The Phoenix

by Sidney Sheldon

  ‘My wallet,’ said Ella, temporarily lost for inspiration. The town car had disappeared from sight completely now. She wondered how long it would take Sister Elena to board a boat and set sail. Not long, that was for sure.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Fatima responded languidly. ‘The sisters aren’t going to steal your money, Marta. Mother Magdalena will send it back to the bakery if we call and leave a message.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘I’ll lend you cash if you need any before then,’ Helen said kindly. ‘But Fatima’s right, we can’t go back. We’re late as it is, and Maria’s all on her own back at the shop. Oooo – look at that!’

  All three girls looked up. Directly above them, a Bell 525 Relentless, one of the slickest, most expensive private helicopters in the world, swooped gracefully upwards, hovering for a few seconds before taking off toward the mainland with an ear-splitting whirr of its blades.

  ‘Whose do you think it is?’ Helen asked breathlessly.

  ‘No one from round here, that’s for sure,’ observed Fatima. ‘Probably some Russian oligarch whose pilot got lost looking for Corfu.’

  Ella said nothing. Instead she let her heart sink in silence as the helicopter disappeared from view, swallowed by the limitless blue Greek sky.

  ‘I was right there. Right in front of her!’

  Ella’s exasperation crackled down the phone line like static.

  Gabriel leaned back in his chair in the first-class American Airlines lounge at Charles de Gaulle Airport, listening to Ella’s report with increasing alarm. The profound relief he’d felt earlier this morning, when she’d managed to leave Sikinos safely, had swiftly been replaced by a new, graver set of worries.

  ‘It’s a pity you never got that picture,’ he observed.

  ‘Screw the picture,’ snapped Ella, anger hiding her own crushing disappointment. ‘It’s a pity I didn’t kill her. I should have. While I had the chance.’

  ‘What chance?’ To Ella’s fury, Gabriel sounded mildly amused. ‘How were you planning on dispatching her, exactly?’

  ‘How? I don’t know how! What does it matter how?’ Ella’s furious tone strongly suggested that Gabriel might well be her next target.

  ‘You just told me there was a large Arab man in the room with her,’ said Gabriel. ‘You don’t think that between them, they might have overpowered an unarmed, one-hundred-pound woman?’

  ‘Well whose fault is it I was unarmed?’ Ella shot back. ‘“Don’t worry, Ella,” you said. “We’re all cogs in a wheel … You just get out of there so the experts can go in and finish the job.” Well, guess what? The “experts” are going to be too late, because she’s gone! And now we have no idea where she is.’

  Gabriel sighed. It struck him how much easier it was communicating with Ella via brain-transmission, when she couldn’t talk back, than it was over the phone. Arguing with the woman was like trying to wrangle live eels in a tub full of olive oil.

  ‘We don’t know for sure that she’s gone.’

  ‘Are you not listening to me?’ Ella ranted. ‘I told you, I saw her take off in one of those high-tech, modern choppers, that sure as shit wasn’t owned by some priest. They flew right over us!’

  ‘You saw a chopper,’ said Gabriel. ‘Not who was inside.’

  ‘Now you’re just being ridiculous.’

  ‘Am I? You said yourself the “nun” was wearing a burka-like habit.’

  ‘Yeah! Like Sister Elena’s!’ Ella seethed. ‘Why is it so hard for you to admit that you screwed up. It was Athena and we lost her. Now I’ll have to resurrect Persephone Hamlin and go back to Makis until I can get a new lead.’

  Gabriel sat bolt upright as if he’d just been electrocuted.

  ‘You cannot go back to Makis Alexiadis. Not now, not ever. Do you understand?’

  ‘No. I don’t,’ Ella said bluntly. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but right now Mak is our only live lead, our only link to Athena. That’s what you told me, remember? And he trusts me.’

  ‘It’s out of the question,’ Gabriel said, his fear playing out as arrogance.

  ‘I can handle him,’ said Ella.

  ‘It’s not feasible. Persephone Hamlin has been retired as a cover persona.’

  ‘So un-retire her,’ said Ella.

  ‘No.’

  A tense silence descended.

  Ella broke it first, and not in the way that Gabriel had expected.

  ‘You know I think I recognized him.’

  ‘Who?’ he asked warily.

  ‘The man. The giant. In Sister Elena’s cell. I can’t place him yet but I just … I know I’ve seen him before somewhere.’

  ‘OK,’ said Gabriel, his unease increasing. ‘Well if anything comes back to you—’

  ‘It was really strange.’ Ella cut him off. ‘He was threatening her. He had a knife. I’m sure he’d come to the convent for the same reason I did. He knew who she was. He intended to kill her. But then something happened. Something changed his mind.’ She was thinking aloud, talking more to herself than to Gabriel. ‘Maybe it was me?’ The awful possibility dawned on her. ‘Maybe if I hadn’t walked in, he’d have finished the job? Maybe I did more than just let her get away. Maybe I saved her!’

  ‘Stop,’ said Gabriel. ‘Those are way too many maybes. You don’t even know who he was; you can’t speculate about his motives.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘Look, Ella, this was your first mission. It would have been nice to get the picture, but you were under immense pressure. Nonetheless, the intelligence you’ve provided is valuable and you can rest assured we’ll act on it. If you’re correct that Elena was Athena, and if you’re correct that she escaped—’

  ‘If?’ Ella spluttered indignantly. ‘There is no “if”!’

  Looking out of the tiny window in the bedroom of ‘Marta’s’ rented cottage, she watched as a pair of mangy-looking chickens chased each other across a dusty lane, squawking and pecking at one another out of hunger or boredom or both. I know how they feel, Ella thought. This island was starting to depress her, but not as much as Gabriel’s attitude. This was exactly what she’d feared. That, without the mental picture, the ‘proof’ that only her special abilities could provide, he wouldn’t believe she’d found Athena. It was infuriating, the way he blew hot and cold. One minute he trusted her: ‘Only you can do this for us, Ella. You’re our secret weapon.’ And the next she was some inexperienced little girl, ‘cracking’ under pressure. Well she’d had enough of trying to please him, of watching him twist the evidence she presented to get the answers he wanted, even when those answers were just plain wrong.

  ‘I want to talk to Nikkos,’ she said curtly. ‘He trusts my judgment, even if you don’t. He also knows Makis Alexiadis is our only hope of ever finding Athena again.’

  Gabriel cleared his throat. ‘Ella, I’m sorry to have to tell you this. I meant to say something earlier, but I needed to understand what happened today at the convent and I—’

  ‘Tell me what?’ Ella interrupted.

  The silence, laden with dread, seemed to go on forever.

  Then Gabriel said quietly, ‘I’m afraid Nikkos Anastas is dead.’

  Ten minutes later, her call with Gabriel over, Ella walked down the creaky cottage stairs and out into the lane. The chickens had gone, and so had their owner, a stooped old farmer ironically named Herakles, who usually pottered around outside her cottage until sunset. All was peace on Folegandros. But, in Ella’s heart, war raged.

  Nikkos. Dear, sweet, incorrigible Nikkos. According to Gabriel he had been tortured before he died, his fat body burned and beaten, the bones of his kind face crushed, his fingers snapped like twigs. Gabriel claimed not to know who was responsible.

  ‘We’ll find out, believe me,’ he promised Ella. ‘But until we do, we must assume it’s at least possible that Makis Alexiadis was involved.’

  Ella thought about Mak. About his hand, covering hers at dinner. About the hungry hardness of his body, his easy humor, h
is flirtatious smile. And her own flirtatious smiles back. She’d told herself she was merely playing a role, doing what she’d been trained to do, doing her part to avenge her parents’ deaths. But deep down, she knew a part of her had wanted Makis Alexiadis. Liked him, even.

  Mak can’t have killed Nikkos. It can’t be him. It mustn’t be him.

  ‘Whoever was following “Persephone” was probably doing so at Alexiadis’s request. If that person saw you and Nikkos together …’

  ‘No. They wouldn’t have,’ Ella insisted. ‘We were careful …’

  Gabriel could hear the pain in her voice. But she had to face reality.

  ‘You must listen to me, Ella. Nikkos’s death means that your identity may well have been compromised. The whole Petridis mission may have to be aborted, or at least put on hold until we know more. But you cannot return to Makis. Not now. Not ever.’

  Ella was silent.

  ‘You know that the last thing Nikkos would have wanted would be to put you in unnecessary danger,’ said Gabriel. ‘He was very fond of you.’

  And I of him. Although it struck Ella that the last thing Nikkos actually would have wanted was to escape the clutches of the murderous sadists torturing him to death. The thugs who had taken it on themselves to execute an innocent and brave man. To snuff out his big, happy, irrepressible spirit.

  Whoever was responsible would rot in hell. Just as soon as Ella Praeger found them and sent them there.

  ‘You must return to Athens tomorrow,’ Gabriel informed her. ‘A new passport and papers will be waiting for you, along with all your reservations. You’re on a flight to JFK first thing Sunday morning. Someone will contact you on Monday in New York about next steps. OK?’

  Ella assented to everything. Yes. Yes. Yes. It was pointless to argue with Gabriel once he was in order-giving mode, and the news about poor Nikkos had knocked the last vestiges of fight right out of her.

  ‘I’m sorry about Nikkos, Ella. And we will follow up on the intel you provided today. Trust us.’

  Walking along the lane, Ella replayed Gabriel’s words in her head, trying to make them sound less empty.

  ‘Sorry.’

  What use was ‘sorry’ to anyone? Poor Nikkos didn’t need The Group’s pity. He needed justice. Vengeance. Just like all the other anguished souls whose lives had been ended, or ruined, terrorized by Athena Petridis and her wicked acolytes.

  Like my mother.

  Like me.

  She had recognized Athena Petridis today. Gazed directly into the eyes of the monster. But that wasn’t even the most frightening part.

  The most frightening part was the one thing Ella hadn’t told Gabriel: The monster had recognized her, too. Or at least something about her. Just as Ella had felt a strange familiarity with the huge man at Athena’s feet, so she was sure that the look in Athena’s eyes when she studied Ella’s face was one of recognition.

  We’re connected, Athena and I.

  There’s something between us.

  Until Ella found out what that something was, she knew she could never let go. Not for Gabriel. Not for anyone.

  Mark Redmayne was on the NordicTrack in his home gymnasium when Gabriel’s text came through.

  ‘E returning to Athens, as requested.’

  Turning off the machine, Mark Redmayne wiped the sweat from his brow and hands and tapped out a reply:

  ‘E believes Mission P suspended?’

  There was a few seconds pause, then: ‘Yes.’

  Good, thought Mark, hanging up.

  Nikkos Anastas’s death was unfortunate, as was the snafu with the ‘giant’ Ella encountered at the convent, and Athena Petridis slipping through their fingers – for now. But one couldn’t control everything. These were irritations, not disasters. And Ella Praeger knew no more now than she had at the start.

  He thought briefly about Ella’s mother, Rachel. How passionate she’d been, how beautiful, but also how stubborn. Fatally so, as it turned out.

  Ella was too valuable an asset for them to lose. On that point, at least, Mark Redmayne and Gabriel agreed.

  With the damage contained, he filed it to the back of his mind.

  Switching his machine back on, Redmayne started to run.

  Makis Alexiadis gazed up at the sunset, bleeding into an azure Italian sky. Lying next to him on the top deck of his yacht, Argo, a stunning nineteen-year-old Victoria’s Secret model lay sprawled out, topless. Jenna, her name was. Or was it Jenny? Either way, her body was as close to female perfection as one was likely to see on this earth. Yet Makis felt as little desire for her as if she were an overweight, middle-aged housewife from Ohio. Persephone had ruined him, stunted his libido like someone pouring poison into the roots of a once vigorous plant.

  The fact that she had run from him was bad enough, after weeks of leading him on and turning him into a horny teenager. But that she had succeeded in making her escape, eluding every spy he sent after her? That was the kicker. The bitch might as well have castrated him with her bare hands.

  Miriam Dabiri was due to join him tomorrow, once they reached Portofino. If nothing else, Miriam was a more skillful lover than the lingerie model, who seemed to believe that by removing her clothes she’d already amply fulfilled her part of the lovemaking bargain. But even the prospect of Miriam’s expert ministrations couldn’t completely banish the cloud that hung over Makis. I must get this woman out of my head.

  A buzzing on his private cell distracted him. It was too bright to see the caller ID on the screen, but on a whim he picked up anyway.

  ‘This is Makis.’

  ‘It’s me.’

  In two words, Persephone’s voice did more to turn him on than Jenna’s naked body had been able to in two weeks.

  ‘I’m sorry I’ve been AWOL. Things have been really stressful with Nick.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ Mak heard himself saying. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘On my way back to Athens. Where are you?’

  ‘Italy. On the yacht.’ His voice was so hoarse with desire, it was hard to speak.

  There was a pause, and then with a coy hesitance that made his heart do cartwheels, Makis heard her say:

  ‘If it’s not too late … I’d really like to join you.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Vera Pridden, Peter Hambrecht’s housekeeper at Windlesham Grange, stripped the bed linen as quickly as she could and put fresh Egyptian cotton sheets on the guest bed. Mr Hambrecht’s guest, the poor lady with the burns, would be back from her morning walk shortly, and Mr Hambrecht had given Vera strict instructions to stay out of her way.

  ‘She’s a very old friend, and she’s come to Windlesham to recuperate after an accident. She needs peace and rest and – above all – privacy. But I know I can trust you with all of that, Mrs Pridden,’ Vera’s boss had added flatteringly.

  ‘Of course, Mr H.’

  Vera Pridden loved working for Mr Hambrecht. She felt important, being the trusted servant of such a great man and important conductor, not to mention the gatekeeper to one of the most beautiful small estates in the Cotswolds. Peter and his guests only used the house at weekends and for occasional summer parties. The rest of the time the idyllic Elizabethan manor house with its wisteria-clad walls, breathtaking gardens and extensive grounds, including thirty acres of ancient woodland and a pretty stream where the burned lady liked to walk, was a private kingdom for Vera and her husband, Albert. Nestled in the dip of a valley, and at the end of a long driveway, completely invisible from the road, the manor house cast a protective shadow over the neighboring gamekeeper’s cottage, where the Priddens lived. Windlesham lifted Vera Pridden’s heart and spirits every day, rain or shine. She had no doubt it would do the same for Mr H’s friend, whoever she was.

  Athena waited for the dumpy housekeeper with her tight curls to disappear back into her cottage before emerging from the woodland path and making her way back across the lawn to the house.

  She’d always loved early mornings at the convent �
� the cool air, the smell of warm bread and coffee from the kitchens mingling with incense from the chapel, where Matins marked the start of every new day. But they were just as beautiful here, albeit in a different way. Cooing wood pigeons, mist and wood smoke – those were God’s harbingers of dawn in the English countryside.

  God! Athena laughed at herself. Would you listen to me?

  Shedding Sister Elena’s habit after twelve long years had been no easy feat. Years of dawn wakings had reset her body clock profoundly, and she could no longer sleep past four thirty in the morning, or stay awake later than ten. The God that Athena had stopped believing in the day Apollo died had also managed to worm his insidious way into her thoughts and words and utterances, the natural consequence of long and tedious repetition.

  God be with you.

  And also with you.

  Wearing civilian clothes again felt simultaneously liberating and strange. Peter had kindly provided a few simple items from Marks & Spencer for her to wear around the estate at Windlesham, including a pair of wellington boots and a hooded parka raincoat, despite it being late August.

  ‘Mrs Pridden can return anything that doesn’t fit or that you don’t like,’ he’d assured her, in a typically thoughtful handwritten note. ‘It’s not high fashion, I’m afraid, but I guessed you’d prefer comfort, at least while you’re here.’

  Dear Peter. He hadn’t changed. Time might have withered his once smooth, handsome face, but it had had no impact on his kindness, loyalty or discretion. He’d respected Athena’s wishes for them not to meet in person, never even asking her where she’d been since the helicopter crash, or why she’d suddenly decided to rise like a Phoenix from the ashes of her assumed death. He knew, instinctively, that she would talk when – if – she was ready. He had even gone so far as to remove all photographs of himself, and her, from the manor – his own home.

  ‘The pictures remind me too much of him,’ Athena explained when they spoke on the telephone, her voice as laden with pain as it had been all those years ago. ‘Being in England will be hard enough. I hope you understand?’